


Bound to You

by Fumm95



Series: Morning Glory (Jace Malcom & Satele Shan) [24]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Break Up, F/M, Great Galactic War, OC: Neros, Star-crossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 00:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7867117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fumm95/pseuds/Fumm95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Satele makes a few discoveries, including the depths of her feelings for Jace, and things turn out as one might expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound to You

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by the [fanmix](http://inquisitorhotpants.tumblr.com/post/140236251916/there-is-no-emotion-there-is-peace-the-code) for these two that erunamiryene made approximately forever ago.
> 
> Taking some liberties with Annihilation canon here, and just canon in general, I suppose. Also, my knowledge of the military is practically non-existent. Just some disclaimers.
> 
> It’s been exactly 6 months since I first fell into this shipping hell (February 25, 2016) so I decided “celebrate” with some breakup fic (that I’ve been working on for probably about 5 months whoops), because their relationship also only lasted about 6 months. And because I’m the kind of person who would celebrate an anniversary with angst.
> 
> To everyone who’s joined me on this little canoe, thank you for all of your support! Hopefully the one-year anniversary will be happier?

She should have known that their time on Alderaan would come to an end, should have prepared herself better for the inevitable since their _goal_ was for it to come to an end. And yet it still somehow manages to take her by surprise, especially in the face of their final victory.

The strange wave of _loss_ that sweeps through her veins as cheers erupt around her is enough to make her retreat in silence, hardly blinking when the calls for a party are echoed across the field.

While the men celebrate that night, she volunteers to supervise the wounded, relieving the healers who have put in long hours caring for them all and waving them off when they try to protest. Unsurprisingly, Syo is the most stubborn and she considers pulling rank on him before he concedes to relax for the night after a final check over their wounded.

She trails behind him, working to commit each face to memory. There are fewer than they have feared, the Empire’s strategy seeming to be more on fleeing the system before they could get overwhelmed, and the prognoses are all good. Her longtime friend is a natural caretaker and she cannot help but be impressed as he flits between them, quiet and gentle in his ministrations, full of good humor and cheer.

Still, it is a relief once he, too, finally joins the celebrations, leaving her alone with the injured men, most of whom have succumbed to their own exhausted sleep. Alone with her own thoughts, and the jumbled confusion that has plagued her since the end of the battle several hours earlier.

There is no denying that their victory on Alderaan is a much needed one, and one that will be celebrated, rejoiced, throughout the Republic. She is just as relieved as anybody that it is over at last, that the world is free from the Empire’s control. The peace that settles over the planet will be a symbol of hope in the months to come.

And yet she has grown used to her time here, has become accustomed to being in one place, planning and training with the same people. Has come to depend, perhaps too much, on…

In spite of herself, she looks out towards the festivities, the crowds laughing and cheering. As always, _he_ is easily visible, towering a head over the majority of the people around him. He is surrounded by admirers, she is sure; Jace Malcom has distinguished himself over and over in the battles for Alderaan and before, bearing scarring that proves his devotion, and everywhere across the Republic, his name has been praised.

After all, she herself has seen the Medal of Valor that is in store for him for his heroics and there are already rumors that there are accolades and promotions awaiting him as soon as he returns to Coruscant.

As soon as he leaves her.

It is for the best, she tries to convince herself, but the Jedi training that has allowed her to hide how she feels to those around her does not extend to lying to herself and she forces herself to turn, to retreat to the far side of the infirmary.

It is ridiculous but somehow, over the course of the few past weeks, she has convinced herself that this—whatever it is—would last forever and now she can only frown at her own foolishness. There is no room in the Code for dreams and silly fantasies.

“ _There is no emotion, there is peace._ ” Master Zho’s voice echoes across the decades, quiet and serene as always, and she nods resolutely, busying herself with the medical supplies left out, losing herself in the monotony of folding bandages and packing medkits.

The task is calming, almost meditative, in its repetition; she can feel her muscles relaxing, her breath slowing, as she works, forgetting about everything other than the cloth winding under her fingers, other than kolto packs and disinfectant.

“Satele?”

She nearly jumps when _his_ voice breaks the silence, though the whisper is quiet enough that none of the recuperating soldiers so much as stir. It is rare for anyone to catch her off-guard, but then again, he has never been ordinary.

For a brief moment, she entertains the thought of not responding. Feigning inattention, perhaps, or slipping away to muddle over her emotions in peace.

Yet she cannot say no to him, has not been able to for longer than she dares admit to herself, and she turns as she feels him approach. “Captain Malcom.”

His amusement is audible in the breath he huffs. “Master Jedi,” he amends, his voice solemn. “I am surprised to find you here, of all places.” He pauses, watching as she carefully sets aside a roll of gauze. “Don’t feel like joining in the revelry?”

Her returning smile feels strained. “Not really. Now that Alderaan has been won, there’s much left to do on other planets. The sooner we can get going, the better the war will be for all of us.” The words come out more clinically than she intended and, even in the dim light, she can see the emotions that flicker across his face.

“As pragmatic as always,” is all he says but the flatness, the subtle accusation, in his tone _cuts_ and she takes a steadying breath.

“It’s for the best,” she replies, her voice soft.

For a second, she wonders if she’s said too much. His face _stills_ , settling with a hardness that takes her off-guard. She has never seen Jace Malcom like this.

His eyes flicker to the beds, to her resting patients. “This is not the place for this discussion. Come with me.”

“The men…”

“The men can be left on their own for a little while.” His lips seem to twitch. “Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised if Master Bakarn returns soon. He didn’t look like he was comfortable out there.”

As she hesitates, his expression softens and he offers his hand. “Please.”

For a second, she considers, then gestures for him to lead the way, allowing him to draw her aside, away from the tents and noise. It isn’t until he stops that she recognizes the lake she had brought him to, their first time away from the camp together.

“Satele.” Her name comes out as a sigh as he turns to face her and, even in the faint starlight, she can see the emotions that dance across his face, the confusion and hurt and sorrow that feel like a blow to the chest. But his voice is soft, gentle even in his pain, and it occurs to her for the first time that he deserves something so much better than this. “Satele, talk to me.”

Nothing has ever felt as impossible as meeting his gaze and she lets her eyes wander, focusing on the night, the lake, anything other than _him_. “The fight on Alderaan is over. What happens now is… anything.” She tries for a smile but it feels forced at best. “There have been bets about how quickly you will advance, you know. And you and I…”

The brush of a hand against her cheek catches her off guard and she turns to find him watching her, his expression as serious, as determined, as she’s ever seen it. “You and I, we’ll see each other. Maybe not like this, but we’ll still be together.” When she doesn’t reply, she sees a flicker of doubt cross his face, but it disappears the next minute. “We’ll make it work, Satele. We’ll find a way.”

She hesitates, thinking about the Code, her duties, the Order… There is no way this can last. It is impossible.

And yet, as he watches her with tender, patient eyes, she wants to try.

* * *

The announcement that he has been promoted to Major is made shortly before the award ceremony and Satele is near enough to see his surprise as he receives the news, though she notes with some amusement that nobody else seems fazed in the least.

Then again, he always did think too lowly of himself.

The ceremony itself is simple, but with the rush to shift the army’s focus from Alderaan to the many other fronts that require their attention, it is enough.

As he makes his way to the front, she meets his gaze, fighting back a smile that she knows would show more affection than she dares share. He is in his usual armor, still bearing the marks and dents from their battle with Malgus that no amount of cleaning would remove, but it suits him, reflecting his sacrifice, and that of the men who had fallen.

She has never been more proud.

* * *

Even knowing that it is bound to happen was not enough to prepare her for how much she _misses_ him when they all depart Alderaan. She has never been attached to a location before, never understood the homesickness that many troops speak of, and yet… In spite of the battles and chaos, she is certain she has never wanted to return so much, never wanted so much to walk through the fields, marvel at the lakes, with _him_.

As soon as they arrive back on Coruscant, she disappears into the meditation chamber, ignoring the looks of concern she receives from her friends. But even there, she cannot focus, cannot think of anything but him. She knows that she will see him again. She knows that they both have their duties to the Republic.

She knows that it could not have lasted.

* * *

In spite of her own misgivings, she has to force herself to not react when he sends word that he wishes to have a meeting over lunch with her later this week, biting the inside of her mouth to prevent from grinning foolishly. It is utterly irrational to be so excited.

Then again, when it comes to Jace Malcom, she is not sure she has ever quite been entirely rational in the first place.

None of the other Jedi comment on her sudden good mood, a fact for which she is thankful, though she does notice both Syo and Neros watching her with more attention than usual in the ensuing days. To be fair, it is never easy to reorganize troops, replacing those who have not survived, watching as over-eager Padawans and Knights, young and unfamiliar with the hardships of war, volunteer for the front lines, and their support is welcome.

Still, she is lucky that her position as the Jedi General is sufficient to excuse any meetings she might have with a Major in the main Republic military. They have to discuss strategy or plan battles, business that might be conducted over lunch. Important enough work that she could justify leaving early.

Even with her head start, he is already waiting outside of the Senate Tower, albeit also engrossed in whatever he is doing on his datapad. Across the distance, he is striking in his confidence, in the command that sits naturally on his shoulders, and she has to remind herself that they are in public, that, as tempting as it is, she cannot stare.

“Major!”

A flash of joy crosses his face at her call before it is hidden under military professionalism, and as she draws near, she wonders whether he can _hear_ her heart beating faster.

The effect he has on her would be almost annoying if she weren’t so ridiculously glad to see him herself.

“Master Shan.” His tone is calm but she can still see a hint of warmth hidden deep in his gaze as he smiles at her. “I appear to have gotten distracted. My apologies.”

She shrugs, unable to keep a smile off of her own expression. “Not a problem. Things have been busy with the Republic, I expect?”

“Extremely.” He makes a face. “But first, shall we?”

It is almost impossible to keep from smirking when he moves to offer her his arm, only managing to turn the gesture into a sheepish invitation at the last minute.

“So what is the news from the front lines? We've been so busy with training the new Jedi in combat that we haven't been keeping track.”

“Nothing major. Small skirmishes, mostly.” Jace shrugs, though she can sense that there's more to his words, that he has something to tell her in due time.

He is quiet during their lunch, keeping the conversation strictly professional, though his eyes study her face with an intensity that takes her aback. She gets a concerning feeling he is committing every moment to memory, in spite of his reassuring smile when she attempts to change the subject.

Distracted as she is, she barely notices when he pays the bill, mirroring him by default as he stands.

“Come to my office?” he offers abruptly.

“Of course.” The acceptance is out of her mouth before she can even think. He nods, his demeanor relaxing a fraction as he leads the way back to the Senate building.

It isn't until they are alone in his office that he drops all pretenses, turning to her with a serious expression. “Look, I don't know how much the Order has heard about the changes to the military, but…” He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that only increases her own worry, and she moves closer, taking his free hand with her own.

He pauses with a deep breath, but even his smile seems strained. “There have been some changes to how the Republic military will be organized. I’ve been assigned to work with Colonel Garza to develop a special forces branch using Havoc Squad.”

She blinks. “No, we haven’t. Congratulations?”

“Thanks.” His reply is heavy, but he seems to notice her concern and sighs. “It’s a good move for the Republic and career-wise, but it also means I’ll be stuck on Coruscant for a lot of the war now, organizing things from here. Still leading Havoc for now, but I need to start looking for a replacement and…” He shrugs somewhat helplessly, making a face. “And you’ll be out fighting while I’m here.”

“Oh, is that it?” she returns, her voice light.

When his expression doesn’t change, she realizes that It is the first time she has to reassure _him_ and she reaches out, resting a hand gently on his arm. “Jace, you said yourself that we’ll find a way to make things work. I won’t always be fighting in the war. The Temple is here. And you won’t be stuck here forever either. We’ll still see each other.”

His smile turns genuine. “You’re right, of course. Forgive my foolishness.” She leans into him as he brushes her lips with his before frowning at the chrono. “And now I’ve kept you late. I have to meet with Garza in a few minutes.”

She smiles. “That’s fine. I’ll see you soon.”

And yet, as she leaves, she can’t silence the part of her that wonders if it will be enough.

* * *

She has never before been so thankful to have a ship of her own. Even among the Jedi, or perhaps especially among the Jedi, it is a rare privilege, reserved only for those whose tasks may require it.

Part of her wonders how much trouble she would be in if the Council were to discover her other uses for her privacy, her most frequent visitor.

And yet, as she waits by the airlock, she finds to her own surprise that she does not care.

Not when, on some nights, she can return from planning battles and discussing military strategy to _him_ , warm and comforting and oh so sweet. Not when she can spend the night in his arms, without fear of being discovered.

His position as commander of Havoc Squad has been filled by a Jek Kardan, he tells her the first time he visits, officially transferring him to administrative duty, though he has been given leave to continue organizing campaigns should he see an opportunity.

“Command doesn't seem to be made of fools,” she replies and, when he blinks at her, she smiles, drawing closer to him. “The Republic would be losing a brilliant commander on the front lines if they didn't.”

He grins at her. “Very practical. So you approve, then?”

“Of their decision to keep you involved in more immediate military strategy? Yes.” She pauses, unable to keep the teasing lilt out of her voice. “Of you being on the frontlines of the war, where we might be able to see each other more often? Of course.”

He laughs before leaning in, eyes tender, and then she finds that no words are needed.

* * *

It takes her a week before she suspects something is not quite right and a few more to confirm her suspicious. By then, she is beginning to feel the effects, the nausea and cravings just strong enough to be noticed but not debilitating.

In retrospect, she has no reason to be surprised. They are both in their prime and it isn't as if they are not engaging in activities that would lead to such a thing. Her own existence is enough to prove it is possible.

Still, she does not dare go to a healer to get a second opinion. To consult another Jedi would force them to enter her confidence and lie to the rest of the Order, and she is too well-known to anonymously visit any clinic without being found out. No, she will keep it quiet, at least for now.

And yet...

She curls up on her bed, so large, so _empty_ , without him, a maelstrom of disbelief and fear and even shame churning her stomach. She is not ready for this. _They_ are not prepared for anything like a child, have too many responsibilities towards the Republic and the war and a thousand other things.

What would Jace even think, even say? They have not discussed beyond the immediate future, have not looked beyond the months of war. She does not know his plans, his dreams, for when they finally achieve peace, whether he desires a civilian life, a family. Whether he sees _her_ in whatever his visions for the future are, or whether her status as a Jedi has taken away that possibility.

And the Jedi. She has long since broken the Code, has acknowledged her growing reliance on Jace Malcom, but now her transgression has physical form. She can no longer ignore it, not when the proof of her attachment grows within her.

A baby. _Their_ baby.

She shakes, arms wrapping tighter around herself as she tries in vain to calm her rapid breathing, to stop bile from rising in her throat. There is nothing she can do about it now, she reminds herself, and no way to alter the past.

But Jace… Jace has always taken too many risks, is always far too willing to sacrifice himself for the Republic without a moment’s consideration of how important he really is to their war effort. Without a moment’s consideration of how important he is to her. To _them_.

Jace needs to know. And yet, she can’t help but wonder what will he do when he does.

* * *

In spite of her resolution, it is all too easy to find excuses to put it off. He is busy on Coruscant, his brief communications reveal, organizing an official Special Forces division and developing training regimes. And the front lines have been holding her attention, perhaps more than is entirely called for.

Even Neros has pointed out her single-minded devotion to the war with something that resembles concern, though she waves it off as casually as she can manage.

Still, when word arrives that he is planning a campaign by the city of Gell Mattar to reclaim Gizer, and is looking for Jedi to assist—a not-so-subtle invitation—she diverts there herself, dread mingling with the anticipation of seeing him again.

* * *

Finding him has never been difficult, and this time is no different. Directions provided by a local lead them straight to the war camp, and even without it, she knows him well enough—is attached to him enough—that she can sense him, even from that distance.

As usual, he towers over most of the people around him, and she spots him instantly. He appears to be deep in discussion, likely about some point of strategy, but even so, he seems to notice her arrival immediately, cutting his conversation off short before hurrying over.

“Master Shan!” Though his face remains calm, his eyes are warm as they look her over, soft with barely hidden affection and joy at being reunited after several weeks of separation.

“Major.” She inclines her head, heart thumping loudly enough that it is a wonder nobody else can hear it. “My apologies for interrupting your meeting.”

“Not a concern, though…” He checks his chrono before grimacing and turning to give the ever-dependable Shi a nod. “Captain, could you please show the Jedi to their part of camp? I'm afraid I'm already late for a holocall with Colonel Garza. Oh, Master Shan, Havoc Squad is here as well, if you would like an opportunity to meet them.”

An apology lurks in his gaze as he nods again and hurries away. Shi shakes her head before leading them across the makeshift camp. “He has been trying to juggle administrative duties with command for several weeks now, with varying levels of success,” she confides in a low voice. “I suspect this may be the last campaign he leads personally.”

Satele nods. Even in that short time, she can see the stress and exhaustion on his face. He has always put all of himself into whatever he does and it is beginning to show. “The Republic will miss his services on the front lines but he has given more than can be reasonably expected from any man.”

Shi comes to a stop at the outskirts of the camp, where a small space has been left open. “Certainly, Master Jedi. At any rate, you and your men can set up here. If you have time, Master Shan, I expect the major would like to brief you personally this evening with regards to his strategies.”

The words are stated blandly enough but there is no mistaking the twinkle hidden deep in the woman’s dark brown eyes, and Satele smiles. “If he has a free moment, let me know.”

“Of course, Master Jedi.”

The captain gives another nod before hurrying out of sight, leaving her to her thoughts.

* * *

“Major?”

She keeps her voice soft as she pokes her head into his tent. According to Captain Shi, the meetings have, not unexpectedly, run late and though he has asked to see her, there is no reason to expect it to be anything but a brief greeting.

Jace looks up, a grin wiping away the exhaustion on his face, and it suddenly occurs to her how long it has been since she has last seen him. How keenly she has felt his absence.

“Finally,” he murmurs before getting to his feet, crossing the space between them with a few quick strides and leaning down to brush his lips against hers, soft and tender. “Stars, I've missed you.”

She cannot stop herself from responding in kind, stretching up to kiss him again, arms looping around his neck, any more than she can stop herself from breathing. “It feels like it's been so long,” she agrees and he huffs a quiet laugh.

“That's because it has been. Too long.” His arms tighten around her waist for a moment, lips pressed lightly against her hair as he speaks.

After another minute, she pulls away slightly, taking advantage of their closeness to examine him more carefully. Exhaustion is clear in the bags under his eyes, the slump of his shoulders, and she reaches up, gently tracing the lines etched onto his face until they relax somewhat and he leans into the contact.

“You have been busy,” she says at last and he smiles.

“You could say that, yes. I'm afraid any official discussion of strategy will have to take place when I'm sure I won't fall asleep mid-sentence. I admit that I just wanted to see you again.” He pauses to press a kiss onto the top of her head. “Stay?”

She tilts her head up to look at him. “I can't, I'm afraid. We're still setting up and too many people know I'm here.”

He nods slowly but his eyes darken with a hint of frustration. “And would it really be so terrible if they do know?”

Instinctively, she freezes, stares at him. If this is a joke, then it is a poor one… and yet he watches her with a serious, almost exasperated, expression and her heart leaps into her throat. “The Jedi… I can't…”

“I know what the Order says. I just—” He cuts himself off with a heavy sigh. “I suppose I just want to be open about it, to stop feeling like I'm lying about it. About you. You deserve better than that.” He offers her a faint smile. “Or even just show them how much I… care about you.” He shakes his head. “I'm just being foolish, I suppose.”

“Jace…” She frowns, unsure of what to say, or whether there is anything she _can_ say to make things better.

He exhales, low and heavy, as he steps away from her and an odd feeling of _loss_ sweeps through her veins. “I know, I know. This is what I should have expected, anyway.” The bitterness in his voice, in his rueful laugh, is enough to make her flinch. He appears to notice, his eyes softening a fraction. “I'm sorry. I know it's not your fault, Satele. I just…”

“I know.” The words catch as her throat tightens. Everyone will have to find out eventually, if not about them, then at least about her. She will not be able to hide it forever.

She has to make a choice.

* * *

Jace has changed since giving up command of Havoc Squad to Kardan, she realizes.

In public, he appears the same—as confident, loyal, and quick on his feet as always. Despite his promotion, she notes that he still visits with Havoc Squad and trains with them, friendly and encouraging with the ever-present Captain Shi at his side.

Yet… He has grown colder, more self-sacrificing as of late, a dangerous fire lurking in his gaze when he suggests troop deployments and calls for training. It appears to have been unnoticed—or perhaps even encouraged—by his assistants and advisors and she cannot help but be concerned as he calls for ever more ruthless tactics, for harsher treatments of prisoners and escaping Imperial soldiers.

And those nights when they can find a quiet moment to themselves, his attentions, his affections, have grown increasingly passionate, increasingly desperate as the eve of battle draws closer. It is almost as if he _knows_ , as if he can see the truth that she has kept hidden in her heart, unable to say the words. As if keeping the words hidden would deny their truth.

But even so, Jace seems to know.

And it terrifies her.

* * *

She is shaking.

It has all finally come to a head; the plan of attack has been arranged, the assignments divided, and the backup strategies reviewed. There is nothing to do except wait for tomorrow and hope it all comes to fruition.

And she is strangely, undeniably terrified.

She wraps her arms around herself, over her stomach, in a futile attempt to contain her trembling as she waits, half-hoping for and half-dreading Jace’s arrival. She still hasn't told him, and for all she knows, it may be her last chance. May be _their_ last chance.

Is it even fair to drop that on him, if one of them doesn't make it? Could he leave her—leave them—knowing that he is leaving them both? Could _she_ leave _him_ knowing that he knows he is _losing_ them both?

But wouldn't it be less fair to not tell him?

“Satele?”

She _jumps_ when his voice sounds from close behind her and gentle arms wrap around her waist. “Satele, you're…” He pauses, examines her with warm eyes. “You're shaking. What's wrong?”

The concern in his gaze is almost her undoing; she draws a breath through a tight throat, fighting the pinpricks of heat behind her eyes. She is a Jedi, she reminds herself firmly. _There is no emotion, there is peace_.

She needs to tell him.

And yet words fail her when she turns to face him fully. For several heartbeats, she stares at him, imagines his reaction, his horror. Pictures him walking away, his face cold, or worse yet, pictures his reaction—his grief and anger and hatred—if she dies.

Her stomach churns with fear, with guilt, as he brushes her cheek with a tender hand. “Satele?”

“Jace…” And then his arms are around her, warm and solid and comforting and her mouth won't form the words she needs to say and _stars, she can't do this_.

She does not need the Force to sense his worry as he presses his lips to her temple and she clings to him. “It's okay,” he murmurs. “Talk to me.”

After a long moment, she pulls away, laces their fingers together to buy herself time. “Jace, I…” _I'm pregnant and I am terrified of how much I care about you and I can't lose you_. But the words won't come, stay caught in her throat, hard and choking.

His eyes soften with understanding that she does not deserve. “I know. Tomorrow… So much could go wrong. But we’ll make it through. We always have.”

As he draws her into his arms, distracts her with the tenderness of his ministrations, she can only hope that she has made the right choice.

* * *

“Master!”

She almost doesn't recognize the voice of Knight Janson, twisted as it is with pain and fear, and she turns too slowly to stop the blade aimed towards his throat, can only watch as his body collapses, the panic still lingering in his glazed eyes.

“General.” Neros’ expression is grim as he wades his way through the strewn corpses of allies and enemies alike towards her. “We cannot withstand this much longer. We do not have enough Jedi to hold them back indefinitely.”

She presses her lips together, his words only confirming what she has already come to suspect. They cannot last much longer and still survive. Already they are entrenched, down what seems like an uncountable number of allies. Of friends.

And yet they have to. Have to keep the bulk of the army distracted, have to ensure that everyone else can carry out their roles. Have to ensure that Jace can _live_.

“Satele!”

She reacts on instinct, twisting to parry the blade with her lightsaber, but she is too late to deflect the shot that follows it and winces as it sinks into her side. It is hardly noticeable, certainly nothing compared to everything that could still befall them, and yet she can feel worry trickle down her spine; she is getting careless, fatigue cutting away at her focus, and it shows. But they cannot stop. Not yet.

“Jedi!” She hears the shout before the Sith even comes into view, and her heart nearly stops. Exhausted as they are, they are in no shape to face down a Sith, especially not one as fresh-looking and battle-hungry as the one before her now. And yet, they have no choice, and she settles into a defensive stance, Neros moving as if on instinct to cover her back.

Before she can even move, a cheer goes up among the remaining Jedi and she blinks, looking up to find a squad of soldiers darting towards them. Jace, helmetless and always instantly recognizable, is at the head and she cannot suppress the smile of relief, of affection, that lights up her face.

Distracted, she is too slow to block the blade that cuts at her side, the hasty block from her lightsaber only managing to redirect it away from her neck. It slashes into her collarbone and she staggers, wincing as her burst of energy flies astray. It shoots past the Sith who grins at her, raising his blade again in triumph…

Only to be yanked off balance by a well-timed hook.

The Sith stumbles back and she channels another burst, knocking him back before leaping up to give chase. This ends here.

Before she can, a hand catches her by the arm. “Satele, wait!” Familiar warm eyes fix on her face as Jace shakes his head.

“I have to—”

“No, let me. Stay here. Please. I can't...” He doesn't say anything more but for a second, she freezes. Does he know…?

But then, with a reassuring squeeze of her hand, so brief that she wonders if she imagined it, he is gone, racing after the Sith with what looks far too much like reckless abandonment.

For a heartbeat, she contemplated joining him, but around her, the Jedi have been bolstered by the arrival by the soldiers and she is needed, no matter how much her heart wants to go with him.

As the fighting continues, she loses herself in each attack, each parry and thrust, doing her best to push Jace’s continued absence from her mind. Only a little longer…

A sudden wave of pain makes her stumble and she waves off Neros’ concern roughly, even as her pulse races. There is only person it could possibly have come from, she knows. She did not realize that such a bond was formed, was not certain that it was even possible, Force-blind as he is, but there is no other explanation.

Her heart in her throat, she turns, staring in vain in the direction Jace disappeared off to, reaching for him through the Force. But no response is forthcoming and he has long moved out of sight. If she wants to find him, if she wants to _save_ him, she'll have to go herself.

A glance around reveals that her men are holding their own now, that, in spite of the earlier struggles, the Imperial troops are waning. She waits for a brief lull in the fighting and fumbles for her comm, tossing it to a surprised Neros. “Call Captain Shi and get reinforcements.”

“General?”

Another glance around and she nods resolutely. “Ja— Major Malcom is in peril. I must go after him. In the meantime, I leave you in charge.”

Steady dark eyes blink at her before Neros nods. “Good luck.”

“And to you.”

She doesn’t spare him another look, cannot afford the time to. Not when his life is at stake. Instead, she turns, ducking under blaster fire, and races towards where she last saw him, towards the faint, muted thrum of energy that she can barely sense.

All too soon and not quickly enough, she arrives at the site, already void of fighting, the bodies littering the soggy ground left for dead. Her heart stops when she spots the familiar white and orange armor, muddied and almost unrecognizable. The next second, she is racing across the open field and, heedless to the blood and grime that cakes her robes, falls to her knees beside his still form. “Jace?”

He doesn't answer, doesn't seem to react at all to her voice. Bile rises in her throat as she resists the urge to grab him by the shoulder and _shake_ him, knowing that it would only makes things worse. Trembling hands reach for his gauntlets, frantically fumbling past the layers of durasteel for his wrist.

Her fingers shake so hard she can barely find his pulse, sluggish and faint, but still there. Still _alive_.

For now.

Relief clouds her mind, weighs down her eyes as she releases her breath. Without thinking, she leans over, heedless to the openness of the area, and presses her lips to his battered forehead. “Thank the stars.”

A soft chime cuts through her thoughts. Startled, she jerks upright before recognition trickles into her consciousness: his comm…

It takes another few seconds of search to uncover it, half-buried under him, and she flicks it on to find Shi, her frantic expression relaxing for a heartbeat.

“Oh, thank the stars, Maj— Master Shan? Where is the major?”

Satele glances down for a moment. “Injured rather severely. How are things on your end?”

“We have them on the run, Master Jedi.” A fierce smile lights up the captain's face, though it fades almost immediately. “Do you need any assistance?”

“That would be appreciated. I am not sure whether I could get him back to camp safely in this state.”

“Understood.” Shi seems to hesitate. “He's been through a lot, Master Jedi. I'm sure he'll be fine. We’ll be there soon.”

She nods, hanging up before she can inadvertently say too much. Instead, she can only lean over Jace to provide what little healing she can and hope that they make it in time.

* * *

Satele has always known that there is no small chance of injury or death for either of them. After all, in spite of everything, there _is_ a war going on, and she has already lost more fellow Order members, more _friends_ , than she can name.

But even so, she has never imagined _this_ , the fear and worry and guilt that eat away at her as she sits beside him, waits for him to wake up. If she had been paying more attention, if she stopped him and went instead, then maybe he wouldn't…

“General?”

She looks up as Neros limps into the tent, looking completely unsurprised to find her there, and gets to her feet, waving him to a chair.

He nods a thank you, eyes flickering around the small space before focusing on Jace. “How is the major?” he asks, voice bland.

“As well as can be expected, I suppose. The kolto has done its work, though he has yet to regain consciousness.” She pauses, realizes that since she and Captain Shi returned, she has not left Jace’s tent, has hardly spared a thought for the men she left behind. “And the others?”

“Those who survived are resting quietly.” He studies her for a moment and she has the distinct feeling he can read her self-recrimination. “We lost fewer than I’d feared. Captain Shi and her reinforcements arrived at the perfect moment.”

His words are softer, more forgiving, than she deserves. She nods once, formal and abrupt, as she laces her hands behind her back. Even so, Neros does not move, only watches her with eyes that are uncomfortably insightful, warm with an odd compassion that she is not used to seeing, is not sure she has earned, and her words fall out without thinking. “I should have stayed with you—”

Neros shakes his head. “Your presence would not have changed much for us, Satele, and the major needed you.” Soft as it is, his voice is steady, certain, and she cannot help but notice the use of her name, a long-offered privilege that he does not often take. He has always been serious, but not like this.

When she determinedly says nothing, he exhales slightly heavier than usual and climbs back to his feet. “When Major Malcom awakens,” and she notes the emphasis on the first word with a twinge of something like apprehension, “give him my regards.” There is a significance in his gaze that she does not dare acknowledge before she is left once again to her own thoughts.

To her own fears.

She draws a deep breath, forcing herself to breathe, to think, as she settles, almost involuntarily, back at Jace’s side. Logically, Neros is right; with the Republic army’s backup, the Sith were retreating. That even she saw.

And yet…

And yet she knows herself. Knows that the state of the fight wouldn’t have mattered. Knows that, in the end, she would always have picked Jace, in spite of logic, in spite of the pragmatism and calm that she _should_ have.

And it terrifies her.

She draws another breath, deeper, trying in vain to stop her trembling. She knows that she has become dependent on Jace Malcom, knows that the bond and the child are only manifestations of the attachment she hasn’t dared acknowledge out loud, to him or anybody else.

But to know that she would willingly kill whomever it would take, that she would sacrifice others—sacrifice too much—for one man. That she would willingly fall to save him…

Bile rises in her throat, acrid and choking, and she buries her face in her hands. How many times has the Order warned about this? That attachments lead inevitably to the dark side? How many times did she hear it, did she notice the masters watching Tasiele Shan’s daughter for signs of transgression?

And, in the end, they were right.

“ _There is no emotion, there is peace_ …” The words are almost foreign on her lips and part of her wonders whether she is committing some sort of blasphemy in even uttering them, wonders whether she has any _right_ to say them. Wonders whether they’re supposed to hurt, to _cut_ , as much as they do.

She has to leave. Has to leave this. Has to leave _him_.

But first… She needs to tell him. If nothing else, he needs to know… perhaps not everything, but _something_. He deserves an explanation.

It takes only a moment to find a piece of flimsy, to lay out out the pertinent details—that this is a violation of the Code, that they cannot continue in this manner, that she will no longer be seeking him out and asks him to do the same—in neutral, clinical terms. To present the facts that are at once too much and not enough. _There is no passion_ …

She folds the letter carefully, patting dry the spots where it is slowly dissolving, and tucks it into his hand.

It is done.

And yet, in spite of herself, she cannot force herself to her feet, cannot stop herself from reaching for him, one last time, curling her fingers around his motionless ones. Cannot stop herself from speaking, broken words that tremble and crack as they tumble over each other. “Jace, I’m sorry. I lied. Earlier. Yesterday. There is so much I needed to tell you, and I just… couldn’t.” Her fingers tighten around his, their stillness only twisting her gut more. “Jace, I… We’re… I’m pregnant. And I can’t… I…”

But even now, the words catch in her throat, and, after another second, she shakes her head, ignoring the tightness in her chest. “And Jace, I—I’m so sorry that I can only say this when you can’t hear it.”

* * *

Even being across the camp is not enough distance, not for this, and after a visit to the infirmary, Satele finds herself fully packed and watching Gizer, now safely back in the arms of the Republic, disappear into the swirl of stars that is hyperspace.

Part of her wonders whether he has awoken. Whether he has seen her note.

Wonders whether he would even care now if she told him everything. About her fears. About her future. _Their_ future.

Their child.

Or would he ignore her and move on, towards the life that he could have without her, the life that he deserves?

She can only hope that he would.


End file.
